Perfect Crimes
by icekings
Summary: Alt universe. Professor Utonium is captured and must answer to a 'perfect' race of humans for his crime against their people, to hide the sinister acts of a few. And the Powerpuff Girls lingering doubt over their creation becomes a terrible reality.
1. Default Chapter

**Perfect Crimes**

A/N: This is AU all the way, even more so after the show's bringing back the RrB.

**

Prologue

**

On the first day, a day that lasted one day or billions of years, whichever perspective you happen to take, the Creator made the Universe; its secrets known only to said Creator, and the subject of dream and speculation forever more by lesser beings. 

Of the numberless stars and other celestial bodies that make up the Universe, only one is known to sustain human life. What is only suspected is the possibility of life beyond this tiny rock called Earth. 

Could there be others out there? Could there be others out there who are just like us? Could there, in the endless array of possibilities, have been a collision at the point where our solar system was formed, a collision of such magnitude that the collection of gases and particles that formed what we became was riven in two and hurled millions of galaxies apart? 

Could there actually be a galaxy out there identical to ours? One that, perhaps, gave life, as we know it, to others? And what if, if we permit ourselves to dream, might become of such a world if there were no catastrophes like the ones that killed off the dinosaurs and set back the progress of evolution? A world where life went on, unfettered…why, the humans that then resulted, if they exist, might well have attained a state of perfection by now. 

What if….

**

*************************

**

"Bleah!"

Buttercup made a face, as if something nasty had just passed her lips. She spat several times, looking thoroughly disgusted.

Blossom and Bubbles giggled at their sister as they stood alongside the road near Mojo Jojo's volcano-top lair. The three Powerpuff Girls had just watched the paddywagon drive off with their evil foe ranting at them through the bars in the rear doors. His latest plan to destroy them had ended with the simplest of gestures; gentle kisses on the cheeks of each of the now-extinct Rowdyruff Boys. They barely paid attention to the base ingredients strewn on the road near them, continuing to chuckle as they launched themselves skyward.

"C'mon, Bubbles!" Blossom laughed. "Let's go find some more boys for Buttercup to kiss!"

Bubbles cackled madly, and neither noticed the annoyed look they were getting from their fiery sister as she caught up with them.

"Yeah, Blossom!" the golden-haired 'Puff answered back. "Practice makes perfect!" She shot her dark-haired sister a wide grin.

"Oh, shut up!" Buttercup barked back.

Blossom thought that her sister didn't seem as vehement as she usually got when they ragged on her. "Come on, Buttercup, it wasn't _that_ bad! Was it?"

Bubbles glanced over as they approached the halfway point to their house. "Admit it, Buttercup, you really liked it, didn't ya?"

The beginnings of a smile tugged at Buttercup's lips. "I can never get anything past you two, can I? But, where did those guys _come _from?"

Blossom pulled up suddenly, growing serious. "I'm not ready to tell the professor about this just yet. Let's go someplace where we can talk it over."

Each of the girls had places they liked to go to be alone, to sort things out whenever something was bothering them. But each knew where the others' were, just in case. Secrecy would be nice, but their duty wouldn't allow them that luxury. They had to be able to group quickly in case of an emergency. And though they were different from each other in many ways, in others they were eerily alike. At times, they seemed to be thinking exactly the same thing, and often came to the same conclusion almost instantly. Buttercup's favorite place was a cliff at the shore, overlooking the ocean. But a monster might see them and come looking for a fight they weren't in the mood for right then. Blossom's was on the moon, but one of her sisters was always on hand to answer 'The Call' and go get her if that's where she was. If all of them were on the moon, that wasn't good.

'The waterfall," they said as one. Bubbles' spot of choice, in the mountains north of the city. They'd still be able to see the Powerpuff Signal from there.

When they arrived, they landed on one side of a stream that formed at the base of a seventy-foot waterfall and flowed away down the mountainside. They were high enough up in the mountains that only a few adventurous types had ever been there besides themselves. The pristine beauty of the scene had barely been disturbed. Tall, light-green ferns dominated the lush vegetation surrounding them. There were a few leaf-bearing trees, but this high up, conifers made up the bulk of the woods that covered this part of the mountain. They could hear birds chirping above the steady roar of the falling waters. Bubbles took up her favorite position on a large boulder covered with soft, cushiony moss. Blossom saw no other good place to sit without getting dirty, so she elected to just float. She got a good view of the opposite side of the gorge while keeping her eyes on Bubbles' face and her other sister's back. Buttercup stood on the bank with a handful of pebbles and was absently tossing them down into the still waters of the pool at the base, away from the cascading waterfall. She stared at the ripples as they broke her reflection, but her attention was fully on the conversation about to take place.

"Okay," Blossom started. "I think it's pretty obvious who those guys were."

"Yeah," Buttercup agreed. "The stuff little boys are made of."

"Only they were evil 'cause of something Mojo did to them," Bubbles finished.

"Right, Bubbles," Blossom said while rubbing her chin, thinking. "Or they would have been good, like us. But where did Mojo get bad Chemical X from?"

"Who cares, Blossom?" Buttercup answered, continuing to toss her little stones. Their splashing made a rhythmic accompaniment to her words. "Mojo can… * plop *… make all the… * plop *…boys he wants… * plop *…and we'll… * plop *…beat 'em… * plop *…every time!"

Bubbles giggled and said, "Hey Buttercup? Maybe we can practice * beating * those bad boys at home in the Danger Room!"

Buttercup dropped her remaining pebbles and whirled, laughing out loud, and she floated over to join her sisters. But Blossom wasn't smiling.

"Girls, this is serious. Kissing _is_ fun, and if they show up again we know what to do, but…but we did something today that I'm ashamed of, and it has everything to do with those boys…and us." 

"You mean 'cause…'cause we _destroyed _'em?"

"No, Buttercup. They were evil and they had to be stopped. I just didn't expect _that_ to happen. But that isn't it, either."

Bubbles looked at her sister in confusion. "Then _what_, Blossom?" 

"When we thought we'd lost, that Townsville wouldn't want us anymore, we were ready to leave…to just…go away…without even knowing where we were going to go. At least I was. I never once gave a thought to going to see the professor, to ask for his help or advice…"

At this point she began to sob. "…or even to tell him goodbye!"

In one horrifying instant, her sisters knew it was also true of themselves. Buttercup scrambled to find a rationale, to deflect the shame she now felt. "But, Blossom, we were just upset! We never lost before!"

Blossom had herself back under control. "We didn't lose today. It was just like Ms. Bellum said, we were attacking the problem from the wrong angle. So, why did we react the way we did?"

Bubbles covered her ears, trying to block out her sisters' words, but the reasoning was coming from within. She had always believed that she loved the professor with all her heart, but…

"No, Blossom! I love him!"

Blossom sighed. "So do I, Bubbles. I know he loves us, too. He's done everything a real father would, but sometimes I have a hard time feeling connected to him."

Buttercup sat down heavily on a rock, not even feeling it. What she felt was like her insides being squeezed, long-imprisoned thoughts trying to escape. "Me too," she said dully, then looked up at Blossom. "I think I've always kinda resented him without knowing why. But now I _know_ why. We don't have a mother. Yeah, lots of kids don't, for all kinds of reasons, but we never even had a _chance_ of having one!"

Blossom nodded vigorously, as if Buttercup had expressed something she, too, had never been able to put into words. "And I've always had so many questions! Like, how were we born, not like babies, but knowing all the stuff we knew and everything?"

"Yeah, like we weren't really born but sucked from someplace else and…" Buttercup stopped, the realization hitting her like a punch. "Those boys."

"Exactly," Blossom said grimly.

Bubbles hunched herself smaller, trying to seep into the boulder, her arms tightening their grip on herself. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" She jumped up suddenly, shrieking, "Those boys aren't like us! And Professor is _too_ our real daddy!"

Her face was beet-red with anger, and she turned and flew off. Her sisters caught her and pulled her back down to the spot. She tried squirming free, but two-on-one wasn't good odds.

"Yes, Bubbles, those boys were _exactly_ like us," Blossom said softly, trying to get her sister to settle down.

Buttercup took the cue, rather than getting angry herself, which she was prone to do. "Yeah, Bubbles. It's only something Mojo did that made them bad. That means that _anybody_ can make more boys, or even girls like us, if they have all the right stuff."

"Or the wrong stuff," Blossom added. "But where do we come from, all made like this, without having to go through babyhood like _normal_ people?" That was another thing she was resentful of. Having superpowers was great, but at what price?

"And if we came from somewhere already made, then the professor isn't our real father."

Buttercup expected another burst from Bubbles at that, but her sister just sagged, and she and Blossom let Bubbles go.

"I'm sorry, girls, you're right. I thought about this stuff too, but I didn't like it and I made myself stop. But I don't resent Professor at all. I mean, we aren't any better. What about poor Bunny?"

"Oh, geez, Bubbles," Buttercup said, cringing. "How could we forget about _that?_ And all because we selfishly wanted somebody to help us, not because we really wanted a sister. At least the professor _wanted_ us."

"No, Buttercup," Bubbles shook her head. "He wanted a perfect little girl. And though we might be made from the stuff that makes perfect little girls, he didn't get what he wanted. But he loves us anyway, just the way we are. That's what fathers do."

She took a step back from them and said, "I don't _care_ where we came from. We're _here. _I'm going home now." She took off, turning to tell her startled sisters, " An' when I get there, I'm gonna tell Professor how much I love him, and _then_ I'll tell 'im about those boys!"

They watched her go, then stood staring at each other dumbly for at least a minute. Finally, Blossom shoved her hands into the pockets of her dress and slumped.

"Y'know, Buttercup, I feel like I'm supposed to set an example for you guys, but how can I do that when I'm such an idiot sometimes?"

Buttercup frowned. "So _that's_ why me an' Bubbles act like idiots! Thanks a lot!" She gave her sister a playful punch in the shoulder.

Blossom was only able to return a small, sad smile. "Thanks for tryin' to cheer me up, but I feel really awful about this. Professor gives us everything, but I'm not giving back like I should. Some part of me is holding back. I see the look on his face sometimes when he's tucking us in, before he turns out the light. I just _know_ he's dying for us to call him 'Daddy'. But I can't, an' I don't know why."

Buttercup sighed in agreement. "Yeah, I know. I keep telling myself it's because he told us to call him Professor, but I know it ain't true. Well, he did, but you know what I mean. An' Bubbles can't do it either. She just can't admit it 'cause it hurts too much."

She paused, then said, "So, why are we like this, huh? It's because we've always known something wasn't quite right about our 'creation', isn't it?"

"Yes. Only we just don't know what. And we _still_ don't. But those guys today…"

"Yeah," Buttercup grunted. "Those guys. Something Mojo did made 'em evil, but other than that it was hard to read 'em. They were pretty much alike. _Not_ like us…"

"Maybe that's because we didn't get the chance to see the real them. Like anyone who sees us in a fight doesn't see the other sides of who _we_ are."

"Gee, Blossom, good point. Do you think we really destroyed 'em? Or just sent 'em back where they came from?"

The question went unanswered while the unasked one hung between them. Finally, Blossom spoke it, and answered both as best she could.

"Or to where _we_ came from. And _that's _the problem. If we _did _come from someplace else, maybe we _do _have a real father, and a mother, too. That means we were taken away from our family against our will. And that's just awful. They would have to feel terrible, and afraid, not knowing if we're OK or even still alive." 

"Yeah, Blossom, and that's what I always resented, kinda. But, if it _is_ true, it isn't the professor's fault. He sorta accidentally caused us to come here instead."

"And if it's true, we ought to remember what our lives were like."

"I sure don't remember anything before we got here. So, how can we go back to somewhere we aren't even sure exists in the first place?"

They were discussing things they knew Bubbles would never accept openly, but they now suspected that their sister thought some of the same things. And it was why she had left. She just couldn't cope with it. They were struggling with it, too, and subconsciously wanted to end the discussion.

"I guess it's something we'll never know, Buttercup. Until something destroys _us_."

"If _that's _what it's gonna take, I'm not in any hurry!"

"Me either. We better get going, the professor's gonna wonder where we've been."

Buttercup nodded and they left their sister's idyllic meditation spot behind. Once in flight, she turned her head toward her sister. "Blossom, do you think we should talk to him about it?"

Blossom didn't answer right away. "When we first came out here, Buttercup, that's exactly what I wanted to do. I just wanted to go over it first, with each other. But now, I think he's not going to have any better answers for us, and all we'll end up doing is hurting him. I think we should just forget the whole thing."

"You're right, Blossom. Even if we're right and we _did _come from somewhere else, who's to say we'd have it any better if we _could _go back? What fun is a place where _everybody_ has superpowers?"

Finally, Blossom smiled. "I heard that!" 

That should have been the end of it, but it was only the beginning.

**

Next - Part I - The Boys are Back 

**


	2. Pt 1 TBaB, Ch1 Death Sentence

**Part One – The Boys are Back**

**Chapter One – Death Sentence**

"I've got them, honey! I think I've got them!"

Thirty-two year old Benjamin Ruff felt the steady thrum in his hands, coming from the long, black device aimed into the night sky like an inverted divining rod. The wind blowing through the open roofport of the speeding hovercraft pushed his black hair out of his large blue eyes, now wide with excitement. It was working! 

His twenty-nine year old mate Bonita, piloting the sleek, silver vehicle, tried to keep her green eyes off of the rearview mirror; not wanting her own excitement to compromise their safety. They were not following any of the established flying lanes; instead taking a dangerous course over the open fields and through the woods outside the world capitol of Paragon, and their former home. Her once-long, flaming orange locks had been cut short and died black, stuffed under a cap, and their faces were blackened with a dark paste to keep the moonlight from reflecting off of them. They were doing something very, very dangerous. Their 'employers' didn't know it yet, but they were fugitives. 

On the dash of the vehicle was a small transponder. It had been rigged by Ben to send out false directional signals back to the control center…but the device's range was small, and soon, the signal would no longer be received…and they'd be in _big_ trouble. If Ben's experiment _didn't_ work, very soon, they'd have to turn back and wait for another opportunity. One that would probably be too late. The 'them' that Ruff was referring to would have most likely burned up in the planet's atmosphere by then. 

Next to Ben's feet, as he knelt on the rear seat of the standard passenger vehicle, this one with the minimal accoutrements of a government model, sat the recomposition chamber. It was a large rectangular box made of a thick, clear polymer, with the experimental particle converter in a smaller black box bolted on top. The converter was connected by a thin, flexible tube to the rear end of the device in Ruff's hands. Essentially, what Ruff was trying to do was be 'zapped.' Not by electricity in the form of lightning, but the principal was the same. He had learned that a particular organic compound, derived from some of the rare elements found in deep space in a scientific probe, and, he believed, remnants of the explosion that had created this planet eons ago, attracted charged atomic particles. Some of this compound, ground into fine dust and covering the far end of the wand, hopefully would attract the particles he was after. If this dangerous experiment did work, the atoms reclaimed from the low planetary orbit where Ruff had carefully tracked them since leaving Terrana twelve hours ago, would rematerialize in the chamber. This low trajectory was intentional, its intent to destroy any trace of what was sent when it fell back through the atmosphere.

In this case, the 'it' was Ben and Bonnie Ruff's triplet boys, destroyed by the ultra-secret beam and their atoms blasted into space on orders from the highest levels of their government. Their sons, executed for the highest crime possible in Terrana society: They were imperfect. Therefore, they were less than human.

The danger to Ben and Bonnie lay not in the experiment itself. Should they be caught, they would suffer the same fate as their children, who would be executed a second time if they _were_ reclaimed, again in secret. Benjamin, one of the top researchers at Terrana Deep Space Institute, had been punished with his firing and imprisonment for keeping secret, for nearly four years, that he and his mate had produced such horrors. It was a crime to not immediately report to the government the birth of an imperfect child. These genetic abominations were quickly and quietly neutralized, and had been for centuries. 

Blasting them into atoms and sending them into space to eventually burn up was a recent development. The government had decided that this was not only a clean, efficient means of disposal, but a necessary one. The long-established practice of neutralization by lethal injection, and disposal by burial, was causing the separate cemeteries created for these cast-offs to grow. 

You couldn't even call them cemeteries, in that they were merely disposal grounds. Families _were_ allowed to visit and mourn, since it was no crime to have produced an imperfect offspring. It was a naturally-occurring tragedy, one that was rare. The loss of the child, while painful, was deemed essential in preserving and protecting the purity of the breeding stock that had reached a state of perfection over millions of years of natural, and later on, artificial selection. Only the best had survived, and anything deviating from that could not be kept. Multiple births had always been seen as an aberration, a splitting of the psyche as well as the body, and something that must not be passed on genetically. Therefore, the policy; but in its wake, there was sadness. After all, Terranites did think of themselves as caring human beings. The cemeteries allowed small markers with the dates of birth, but not the dates of neutralization. Those dates were forever burned into the memories of the affected family members anyway, thusly, there was no need for public memorialization.

However, a careful observer in one of these disposal grounds would note, from the birth dates, that the numbers were increasing. If the aberrations were just that, and something that should eventually disappear in the process of evolution, the numbers should be shrinking. The burial grounds in some places around the planet were filling up. This was seen as a problem. The government, very aware of the increase in defective births, didn't need the people questioning why this was. They also saw no need in trying to figure out themselves why it was happening. It was just a problem that had to be dealt with. So, citing the need to preserve the open spaces for more valuable uses, the space-disposal idea was thought up and put into effect. The cemeteries were closed to new 'business'. There was no more public display and no more potential for discovering the 'problem' of increasing multiple births. Families could simply gaze into the heavens to mourn their departed offspring. It was a tidy way of getting rid of the issue. 

What most Terranites _didn't_ know was that the new means of neutralization was not by cremation, as they had been told it was, with the ashes sent into the atmosphere to burn, but the, essentially, _vaporization_ of their loved ones. Why shock everyone with a new technology they didn't need to know about when sending cremains into space was a long-accepted practice. In fact, it was a _desired_ one, available to only a certain few well-heeled citizens. To offer this to the families of those whose children had necessarily been sacrificed was seen as a noble gesture, publicly, and within the bureaucracy, a brilliant move, and it earned a nice promotion to the bureaucrat who had thought of it.

To actually _witness_ such a jarring event as the instant rendering of a human being into _nothingness_ was something the government didn't feel the populace could handle. It might only breed discontent, of which there was already too much. 

There is always dissent in any society. There had always been dissenters in Terran society, a small number of those who considered themselves smarter than everyone else, who saw as a thing of evil the difficult decisions that had been made over the centuries to achieve the perfect human race. Most Terranites accepted the new policy – and all the old ones, too - and the change in disposal method, without question. But a small group of outcasts disagreed with both, but first and foremost, with the policy itself. That group was growing. Some had formed an organization that was totally foreign to the Terran way of thinking: They secretly, but openly, opposed their government. Secretly, in that they remained hidden as much as possible, living in safe houses that changed locations frequently. There were always government agents looking to infiltrate their group. Openly, in that they posted, in the dark of night in public places, their 'manifesto', if you will, speaking out against the law of the land. And even more dangerous to them, they offered to give, and did give, sanctuary to any 'imperfect' children, and the parents thereof, to prevent any more needless deaths.

For failure to obey the law, an average citizen would have been publicly executed as an example to everyone else, but Ben had friends in high places. His sudden disappearance would have to be explained, so execution was out of the question, in spite of the danger he presented to certain government officials. One in particular, who would have liked nothing better than to see Ruff disappear, along with his ill-conceived offspring. For Ben presented a danger to this man. 

Ben knew something about him that few people did, but to order Ben's execution would ruffle feathers among the Senate and might cost him his job. That job was as the Primate, the official head of the world government. To the people, this man held great power, but the real power lay in the hands of the Senate. The information that Ben possessed was also known by the Senate, so that was not the problem. They were in total agreement with the Primate on the subject. But if this secret were to be made known to the general public, it might cause a ripple effect that could bring all of Terran society down and set it back thousands of years. 

So certain members of the governing body felt it best to leave Ruff where he was. He seemed to have taken the impending loss of his children, and his punishment, in stride, and continued to serve the government well in his deep-space research. The man was a brilliant scientist, and if he continued to be of help in the exploration of deep space, he might yet earn his release. And that of his mate. But the offspring had had to go; there was no two ways about it.

Ben and Bonnie had been held together in a government compound that, to the outside world, was just another secret research facility, a mini-city whose residents didn't interact with the rest of Paragon's citizens. To make it known that it was, in fact, a prison, would be to admit that Terran society was less than perfect. As far as the general populace knew, Terrana had no prisons.

There was no real need for them. Poverty, the root cause of much criminal activity, had been eliminated millennia ago. War, famine, disease; all gone. There was one government, and peace and prosperity ruled the planet. There were, of course, occasional infractions. There were minor thefts, assaults and other misdemeanors. But not many, because, life on Terrana was good, and also, the punishment for these infractions was something to be avoided. The guilty were made to wear a standard uniform, pants and shirts for males and sleeveless dresses for females, with one distinguishing feature: A single, wide black stripe around the shirts and dresses. The only differences in the uniforms were that the colors matched the eye color of the offender. The black symbolized wrongdoing, and the wearing of this uniform branded the wearer an unfit member of society and brought with it the social stigma. Until your penance period was up, determined by the severity of your offense, you were shunned. If you had a government job, as just about everyone did, you lost it until your sentence had been served. You were given the most menial and demeaning of tasks, ones designed to humiliate. Once served, though, Terranites quickly forgave and forgot, and your life got back to normal. This means of punishing criminals was very effective. The government factory that produced the uniforms was a small one. But lately, it was taking on new workers. Production was up.

The only official crime on Terrana was in not reporting the occasional birth of less-than-perfect offspring, for which the sentence was death. Discussions had been held at the highest levels about punishing those charged with interfering with the enforcement of the law, ie; the dissenters, with capital crimes. So far, that had been left alone in favor of sticking with the standard 'treatment' for dissention seen as disruptive to society – basically, they fried your brain, which was about the same thing as being dead, anyway. You were taken away and never heard from again, working in obscurity on some government farm – but, you didn't care, being in Happy Land for the rest of your days. Thus, the need for safe houses and secrecy.

For the _true _criminals…both the parents and offspring were made to wear the black-striped uniforms until the moment of their execution. This death sentence was also very effective. Very few parents suffered this fate. The same wasn't true for the ever-growing number of offspring being born in twos and even threes. Terrana had achieved a state of perfection, and wanted nothing to change that. Allowing imperfect children to contaminate the breeding stock perfected by nearly five million years of evolution just could not be permitted.

But Ben Ruff wasn't going to sit back and do nothing. Spilling the beans on what he knew about the Primate was too dangerous. His life had been spared, in part, because of his silence, and to go public with it would bring instant denial and fast retribution. The only avenue open to him, in fact, the only thing he and Bonnie cared about, was getting their children back. 

Protecting them was something they had been working on ever since the day the boys had been born, a little over five years before. Having instantly made up their minds not to give up their children, Ben and Bonnie had suddenly moved from the city, taking baby Arnold with them, to a place out in the country where no one knew them. Bonnie had dyed her hair black at that time and kept it that way - dark-haired parents, one with green eyes, dark-haired baby with green eyes. Adam and Avery had been kept, secretly, by Bonnie's retired parents until Ben and Bonnie could sell to their new neighbors, who owned small farmettes like theirs, that they were working toward adopting two infant boys of two different husband-and-wife teams of co-workers at the Paragon research facility, who had been killed in a horrific explosion. 

For four-plus years, the boys had grown and played with the other country kids who never suspected that the three were brothers. The boys, of course, were told the truth as soon as they were old enough to understand, along with the importance of keeping the secret. It had worked until a government investigator, who had just happened to go into the small grocery market where the Ruff family shopped, overheard a conversation about the 'exceptional' Ruff kids. About how irrepressible and smart and talented they were, and that if you didn't know two of them were adopted, you'd swear they were blood. Intrigued, the investigator asked a few harmless questions, and heard more of the story of the 'research facility tragedy' and the wonderful thing the Ruffs had done taking in their co-workers kids. Suspicious, the man started poking around through records, and discovered that the double tragedy had indeed happened, but that the orphaned boys were actually doing quite well in separate homes thirty kilometers apart. And that is how Ben's careful plan had eventually unraveled. 

Once the boys had been taken, they were doomed. But the fate of Ben and Bonnie was up in the air until wiser heads prevailed and they were spared. Ben used the resulting delay in the boys' deaths to plan this dangerous operation, and it had been finalized upon learning only weeks ago of the actual execution date. 

If the rematerialization was a success, they would run straight for the safe house and go into hiding; protected by members of the small and secret underground movement. Scientists, engineers, educators, artisans and plain working folk, all united by a common thread: Each had lost children to their government, children they had loved, and to them, were everything _but_ imperfect. 

The fight to save future children _would_ take place, but only when the time was right, when the group was strong enough and could muster enough proof of government atrocities to go public. The group's leaders had planned a raid to take over a government broadcast studio and air their grievances to the entire planet. Soon, Ben Ruff could make that announcement of what he knew about the Primate, an announcement that might sow the seeds of public discontent, and hopefully, change. But, soon, Ruff might be able to provide them with an even bigger piece of proof than they could have hoped for. 

Or, to be precise, three of them.

**Next – Chapter Two – Found and Lost**


	3. Pt 1 TBaB, Ch2 Found and Lost

**

Chapter Two – Found…and Lost

**

In a white-painted, spotlessly clean control room, a middle-aged man dressed in a zippered one-piece navy uniform sat in an upholstered one-piece ergonomically-correct chair. In the display on the wall he sat facing were a dozen wide-screen monitors. They monitored another dozen points outside and to the east perimeter of the compound Ben and Bonnie Ruff 'lived' in and worked at. A panel before him could control the angle each screen displayed, in a 360° circle, at the touch of a key.

Seated behind and to either side of the man were two younger men and a woman, dressed in like fashion. They observed points to the west, north and south. Their duty was to monitor not only the outside of the facility for security purposes, but to keep tabs on various 'employees' and the vehicles issued to them. The monitors only covered a very small range of the hectares and hectares of ground surrounding the facility that made the place so private. To monitor these areas, each vehicle was equipped with a transponder, and each occupant a mini-transponder sewn into the collar of their government-issue work clothes. The minis reported to the vehicle. Whenever an individual got out of allowable range of their vehicle, a signal went back to the control center. If it stayed out of range for more than thirty seconds, an alert team was notified, and security crews in speedy black hovercraft were sent out to investigate. They were always false alarms. A repairman had wandered out of range, momentarily enthralled by some wildlife, or some such trivial thing. Whenever a vehicle itself had stopped transmitting, it was due to equipment failure. The crew of worker- robot supervisors, or a botanist or some other science investigator, had been found to be doing their assignments.

So, when Ben Ruff's vehicle stopped transmitting momentarily, the man monitoring the East board looked up briefly, then shifted the weight of his smallish body in his chair as his large, red eyes went back to the newspaper he'd been reading. The transponder resumed its report, and he glanced up again.

__

"Stupid cheap equipment," the man thought, reaching for his mug of hot tea with his fingerless hand. _"Why don't they get us stuff that works?"_ He gave his oversized head a barely perceptible shake of disgust.

*************************

Ruff had not known what to expect, really. In the early hours after his sons had been sent into orbit, he had completely lost track of their atomic signatures, and had feared all was lost. Then, he'd reacquired them. But half of him, the human half, doubted if this would work. The scientist in him was far more optimistic. Which is not to say that scientists aren't human, though they sometimes seem that way.

What he was hoping to accomplish, aside from the obvious, of course, was a successful test of his homemade version of the disassembler/reassembler technology, commonly known as 'toters', which had been in commercial use for twenty years and government use for close to fifty. Saying, "Tote that order to New India ASAP," was much easier than saying the mouthful of what the technology actually did, which was to turn an object into molecular form and reform it where you wanted it. The collection of disassembled molecules was concentrated into a beam, then sent using satellite relays to its destination, then reassembled. Used only on inanimate objects, they routinely sent merchandise, equipment, anything you needed sent from one place to another, _from_ one place to another. But experiments on animals proved only that you would find a dead animal at the other end. What Terranites would be horrified to learn was that their government had chosen this technology to dispose of condemned children and deposit their molecules into space.

What the Primate and the Senate would be horrified to learn was that Ben Ruff had found out about the ultra-secret tests that showed a particular rocky substance – called actonium after the early space explorer Acton who had identified it as being unlike any other mineral yet known, and believed it to be as old as the planet - had the unbelievable quality of being able to turn those degenerated animals into living, breathing duplicates. 

No one knew why; the theory was that the molecules of living things didn't act the same way as inanimate ones, that they scattered too much to retain life upon reformation. It was thought that the space compound, perhaps one of the very cornerstones of life itself, arising out of the primordial stew, could somehow give life back to these molecular corpses. 

Getting hold of this substance from space was easy. Terranites had been exploring space for thousands of years. They had traveled to galaxies galore, ever-searching for other life and finding none, which only further supported the inbred arrogance that had been a natural outgrowth of their quest for perfection. The stuff was everywhere. There seemed to be a trail of it, ranging from the size of large boulders down to a fine dust, reaching from Terrana to points unknown. There was tons of it on the planet already. Small rocks were a favorite of the perfect little Terranite children for the soft, comforting glow they emitted in the dark of the nighttime bedroom.

By itself, though, the substance was powerless. In the particular case of transporting animal life, the catalyst was the powerful beam of light that carried the molecules. Needless to say, the government didn't want this information getting out. Being able to transfer animals to anywhere on the planet would have been extremely useful, such as when a zoo needed to replace an exhibit that had died. It would have been a tremendous boon to the pet industry if shoppers could order a puppy from their personal information console and be holding it in their hands minutes later. But that would mean the existence would be known of the substance that made it work. One thought would lead to the next, and soon, everyone who had lost their kids would be trying to get them back with their consumer-model toters. Sooner or later, one of the scientists or engineers in the disgruntled underground movement might get one to actually work. Suppressing this advancement in technology was a must.

Ruff had read about it in an obscure, supposedly top-secret memo, but had not yet passed the information along to those in the movement. He didn't totally trust them yet. There were some whose beliefs were totally out there, ideas that challenged millennia-old foundations of his civilization that he himself believed in. Additionally, he had a stubborn streak that had been passed on to at least one of the boys. He thought himself as brilliant a scientist and innovator as anyone, and his ego wasn't quite ready to hand over his baby to another.

In Ben's case, right now, the catalyst, he hoped, would be the tiny, but concentrated and powerful, invisible beam emanating from the substance-covered wand that was directed toward the reacquired atomic signatures of the boys. Where they had disappeared to for that period of a few hours, he had no clue. Solar flares may have interfered with his readings, or something else, but no matter. He'd found them again.

If this was going to work at all, would the boys suddenly materialize all at once, like they had vaporized all at once in front of his eyes? Bonnie had not wanted him to witness it, and she hadn't, but the scientist in him was convinced that he must. He'd stood stone-faced, angry but determined, as the boys vanished and the beam shot skyward. At least, mercifully, they had been sedated.

Would they appear all at once? Would the process take awhile, to recover and reassemble the scattered atoms? Could all of them be found, even? That was their worst fear, that they would be seeing only body parts, or worse, a frightening amalgamation of the three boys partiallly-found atoms, reassembled into something unspeakable. It had happened in some truly horrifying instances with the early animal experiments. 

One thing he was sure of, though, was that their clothing would not survive. Those molecules would have scattered themselves beyond any hope of reclaiming. Bonnie had smuggled out a set of clothes for each boy in an act of optimism. The only thing available, of course, the uniform of black pants and black-striped shirts in their eye-colors of blue, red and green, along with three pair of the high-topped athletic shoes most boys were given.

What had happened was that, a millisecond before Ruff cried out, "I've got them, honey!" he had seen what looked like a boy's pink hand materializing in the chamber. Bonnie had reacted with nervous joy, taking her hand off the stick momentarily, and the craft had jerked, and the rematerialization ended just as suddenly. Shocked, and before Ruff knew quite what had happened, Bonnie got the craft back on the course she'd been following. Within seconds, the rest of a small, sleeping blonde-haired boy appeared in the chamber, completely dressed and curled into a ball, a happy smile on his face. The event was finished shortly after Ben had issued his, "I think I've got them!" He was too stunned and excited to even begin to ponder the mystery of why and how the boy's garb had not only survived, but looked as though it had never been removed, in spite of being a bit soiled, along with the boy's face.

His mate seemed not to notice, either. "Oh, Ben, it's working!" cried a joyous Bonnie, trying to keep one eye on her command of the hovercraft while taking in the sight of her sweet little Boomer. Named Avery upon his birth along with his brothers Adam and Arnold – his parents deciding not to give them 'B' names like theirs - Boomer had acquired his nickname from the friends he and his brothers played with where they'd lived secretly until being discovered by the government investigator. He'd gotten the name for his peculiar ability to summon animals of all kinds by mimicking their calls in a loud, booming voice – not deep, like an adult's, but resonating. His brothers had gotten nicknames, too, and they'd stuck to the point that their given names were but a memory. Adam, the first born by mere minutes ahead of Arnold, was a tough, stubborn kid, but a very intelligent one – an intelligence that seemed ahead of his brothers, to a degree. His was a will as unmovable as a brick wall – when he wanted something out of his siblings, he usually got it…eventually - and with hair the orange-y-red color of the blocks of fire-hardened clay, the nickname 'Brick' was born. Arnold was even tougher and scrappier, tending to pick on the gentler Boomer and make Brick work for his victories, and had a cowlick that even butch wax couldn't tame. Thus, the name 'Butch' was a natural for him. They'd ended up with 'B' names anyway.

Now, after the brief loss of control that had got them out of range and taken the control center employee away from his paper, Ruff focused on a second signature. He told Bonnie to stop and hold that position. Slowly, a sleeping Butch joined his brother in the chamber. Butch wasn't smiling, though. A look of disgust was firmly planted there. Ben turned to smile briefly at his mate, whose eyes were beginning to leak behind her expression of mesmerized joy. 

Ben shifted his cramped body in the small back seat. At 1.5 meters, he was a good deal taller than the average Terran male who stood 1.3. Bonnie herself was that height; the average for Terran females was just 110 centimeters. The container had been built to hold the three boys, who were big for their age. They were probably going to be taller than Ben, perhaps reaching a rare 2 meters in height. IF they got the chance.

The third signature could not be found. Something was interfering again. Ben told Bonnie to rotate the craft slowly while he held the wand steady. It was actually more precise than moving the wand in a stationary craft. When turning the full circle produced nothing, she began to move forward again. 

"We'll be out of range soon," she said, with worry beginning to replace the joy.

"I know," Ben replied, keeping one eye on the two boys and his other on the digital readout. "But the false signal will buy us some extra time if it comes to that."

*************************

The beeping annoyed the man yet again. But this time, it kept beeping. The other three employees looked up. The woman, younger than the men, was the shift supervisor. Her blonde hair was cut short with bangs framing her wide face and large blue eyes. She pivoted in her chair to face the East panel. Within seconds, the other two joined her. Their eyes continued to sweep their own panels, but all eyes were on the large clock No one wanted it to reach the thirty-second mark. The automatic alarm inside the room was loud. It couldn't be manually silenced, either, it sounded a full ten seconds.

"I hate false alarms," sighed the woman as she and her crew put their hands to where their ear lobes would have been had they lived over forty thousand years ago. When the alarm stopped, the much-quieter in comparison out-of-range signal was still heard.

"OK, we better alert Security," the woman muttered, then turned to her panel to punch the button that would alert that department. Something made her hesitate. She turned again, to East, noting that a large red R was lit up on his digital display. "What've we got out there in R, anyway?"

The man started in his seat. "Uh…" His eyes went toward the envelope tucked into the small slot in the board, just below and to the left of his left leg. It was the daily update that each shift got and was _supposed_ to read; a roster of who and what was assigned to which sectors of their areas of responsibility.

The supervisor waved her fingerless hand. "Don't sweat it, Pete, I didn't read mine either." 

Hardly anyone bothered anymore. There hadn't been a real incident since six years earlier. A young tech wizard, not satisfied with his rate of advancement at the facility, had decided to smuggle out one of the great inventions his brilliant mind had played a crucial role in producing. He wasn't after the money, just the recognition. He was now confined for the duration of his graveyard shifts to a small room, where he typed non-sensitive data into a computer all night long, with no access of any kind to any form of technology…or recognition.

'Pete' pulled out his envelope and scanned the single sheet of paper. "Light night. Only three things going. Sector C has a robot crew mending a blown transformer, in J is another repair crew, and R is a husband-and-wife team of stargazers named Ruff."

"Heh," chuckled North. "Stargazers. Like we don't have enough of those."

'Pete' and South, the woman, chuckled along. But West said, "Did you say Ruff? I've heard that name somewhere else today."

He'd heard some mumbled rumor about something happening that morning at the facility, involving the name Ruff, but he hadn't heard enough of anything to make sense of it. Without being told, he accessed the full database of all facility employees. The faces came up on his screen, along with a short bio for each. He read it to his fellow crew.

"Ruff, Benjamin. Age 32. Senior Deep Space Consultant." 

"Heh," chuckled North, again. It was a well-known fact that 'consultant' was a fancy way of saying you'd been demoted for some unknown career misstep. The poor slob must have really done something to upset somebody. Oh, well, at 32, he still had a good sixty years or so before retirement age to turn things around. 

Ruff's 'offense' wasn't listed, nor were any of his many accomplishments that he'd have been credited with otherwise.

"Ruff, Bonita, age 29," continued West. "She's a flight instructor. Everything from hovercraft to sub-orbital shuttles." The man paused. "Whoa…it says here she used to be a mass-transport pilot."

North bolted upright in his chair. "That young, she musta been one heckuva pilot. Her man must've really scorched some big shot's shorts to cost her _that _job. Those two woulda had it _made."_

Money wasn't important on Terrana. In fact, there _was_ no money. Anyone could have anything they wanted, so long as the having didn't interfere with your duties and responsibilities. For instance, you could have any technological plaything you desired, so long as you didn't spend all day playing with it. Otherwise, you risked becoming a 'deadhead', a lazy person. Laziness was barely a step above the shunned criminals in their black-striped shirts and dresses, and worthy of the scorn heaped upon them. 

Therefore, greed and envy had just about disappeared along with money when it came to material things. Certainly some had more than others, but it was all relative. Once you had achieved a certain social standing, you had more free time to indulge. What was more important to Terranites was status and respect. A grocer that worked hard to serve his customers was more respected than _any_ consultant, no matter their field of expertise. No one was actually _paid _for goods and services, they were merely government agents for the production and distribution of goods and services. Your social status came from what you did. Everyone began their working lives doing manual work traditionally done by robots, to learn what work was. You then graduated on to training schools based on your range of interests. Once you completed school, you were placed in jobs that fit your demonstrated knowledge and skills, and you advanced into new and better things from that. With money not being an issue, there was no such thing as too many teachers or too many of some other vocation that created ruinous competition. There was work for everyone. With your status came your assigned living quarters, provided by the government. Everyone had a good, safe place to live. The higher the social standing, the larger the dwelling and amount of land you were allowed. Most Terranites lived in cities and did good, respectable work. They were content to live in their high-rise apartments. Parks and marinas were plentiful, so the toys could be owned and enjoyed, they just had to be stored away from your living quarters. Those at a greater level sometimes found country living more desirable. There was plenty of open, unspoiled space, so many small farmette communities dotted the landscape around the big center cities and quieter suburban areas. The Ruffs had 'bought' their farmette with the status of the jobs they'd once had. 

But this disparity in living didn't cause the 'haves vs. have-nots' social tension that had once existed. You had a good life on Terrana to begin with. If you wanted to work even harder, you deserved to get the extra benefits.

So, when North spoke of having it made, he was referring to the serious loss in status the Ruffs had suffered for whomever's feet Ben Ruff had stepped on. It was the thing that made the supervisor, South, very glad she'd hesitated in calling Security.

"A pilot, you said." She thought about that. She was pretty sure who was driving the hovercraft. But why would they even consider stealing a hovercraft? Their lowered status certainly wasn't low enough to prevent them from owning a personal model, though they might not be allowed to keep it where they lived. "What're their living arrangements?"

West had to punch in a series of instructions to access that information. "Ruff, Benjamin and Bonita. Location: Classified."

"Hmmm," said South. "That's odd…"

"Security clearance classified, too," West reported without being asked to check.

"Uh, oh," said 'Pete' and North at the same time. This was red flag territory. Angry, South grabbed her envelope and tore out the sheet. "Why in the twin moons isn't that on here?" she shouted.

"Somebody screwed up," offered North.

"Well, it wasn't us!" steamed South, her blue eyes flashing. "Well, our butts are covered," she said in a calmer voice, realizing it. Now, she notified Security.

A bored-sounding gruff voice came over her panel's speaker while the three men returned to their own responsibilities.

"Yeah, what is it this time?"

'Pete' responded into his speaker-transmitter, "East, Sector R."

"It's probably nothing," South said into her panel. "But you should proceed under the assumption that we have an escape attempt."

The security man's bored tone was gone. "Speak to me, girlie, I'm listening."

*************************

Protocol for events like this was to first send out a signal that would disable the engine or engines of the signed-out vehicle. The signal was sent out, then a detail of three men in navy jumpsuits, and six robots programmed in stalking and containment, clambered aboard a speedy hovercraft, painted a matte black to absorb light. It sped off toward East sector R from its hangar at the research facility. The men's suits were of a light armored material; not that they expected any sort of weaponry to be used on them. It helped protect them from bumps and bruises in the sometimes-violent twisting and turning chases, which were very rare, and from stepping in an animal's burrow-hole and falling down, which was very common. They each carried batons that, when struck against an adversary, delivered bursts of electricity that could render someone or something helpless. They were often needed to drive off destructive larger animals that were eating through wires or tearing apart storage and maintenance sheds looking for food. The robots were designed to discharge these currents through their 'hands', upon command. None of these crew members or robots had ever met with a human adversary. The men didn't want to. You could send someone to Happy Land forever with one of these things, baton or robot, if you weren't careful with it. Nobody wanted that on their conscience, even if it were necessary.

But usually, just killing the hovercraft was enough. It was a sure way to find your false alarm in a hurry. The craft would stop dead, its occupants would put out a distress call, and then you knew that you had a faulty transponder. A crew was sent out with a replacement transponder, the engine was reactivated, and all was right with the world. The shift supervisor did three things: He sent out the 'kill engine' signal. He put together and sent his search team. And then, based upon the information he'd gotten from the control center, he went higher up. Like the woman had said, it was probably nothing. But if it wasn't, his neck wouldn't be on the line. He'd never heard of either Ruff, but it didn't matter. 'Classifieds' were someone else's problem, not his.

*************************

In a parking garage at the facility, in a standard-issue hovercraft amongst the rows upon rows of them, the engine received the 'kill' signal. When it was signed out three days hence, it wouldn't start, and it would take a whole day to figure out why. Ben Ruff had simply signed out the vehicle, then taken another.

At this moment, the vehicle was hovering. Ben had located the third signature again. Within the space of a minute, Brick had fully formed in the chamber next to his brothers. On his sleeping face was a look of confusion. It wasn't unusual for the three to have such a varied reaction to the same event. Boomer was the least-ruffled by things, at first, anyway, until he really understood. Then he could get very angry, if the circumstances justified it. Butch was annoyed by everything, at first, until he understood. Then he'd either lighten up, or want to fight, depending on the circumstances. Brick tended to question new things before reacting one way or the other. So all of their expressions made sense. Ben wondered what they had experienced in their minds through this whole thing…and he hoped he'd get to ask them. He couldn't be sure they were actually sleeping…until he pressed his face against the clear polymer and saw their chests rising and falling gently.

"Bonnie…"

"Ben?"

"Baby, I think we did it."

"Oh, Ben!"

Their embrace, though joyous, was brief. It was time to get out of there. The security detail would find Sector R empty, of course, but not because their prey had left the scene. They had never _been _in East Sector R. The Ruffs had actually been the whole time in West Sector W, with Ben's rigged transponder fooling everyone. Ben could only hope he'd bought them enough extra time. Hopefully, the boys would remain asleep until they reached their destination. It wasn't to be. Boomer stretched his cramping left leg and nudged Butch.

"Quit it," grumbled the sleeping boy, opening his eyes to see his startled parents in each other's arms, leaning over the front seats to hug. "Mom? Dad? Dad! Ya' did it!"

Before they could react, Butch got to his knees and pressed his hands and face into the clear panel in front of him, staring at them, and all around the vehicle. "Ya' really did it!"

He turned and kicked both sleeping brothers. "Hey, Sleeping Beauties! Wake up, we got company!"

He began looking for a way out of the box. The adults took one look at each other and knew their escape was going to have to wait a bit.

"Easy there, buddy, let me get that," Ben said laughingly. "Let's not break that thing just yet."

As he folded back the hinged lid, Brick and Boomer were rubbing their eyes, half from sleep and half in disbelief.

Brick jumped up. "Holy cow, Dad! You said you'd do it an' you did!" He vaulted himself out and jumped into his father's arms, beaming with happiness and pride. Ben felt the incredible flood of warmth that love brings; it had been _so_ long since he'd been able to hold one of his sons.

Bonnie had gotten out of the front door and climbed in through the rear, and was reaching for an amazed Boomer as he was reaching for her. Butch climbed out of the box by himself and stood on the seat between everybody.

"Aw, man, what a crazy dream that was! It was _awesome!_"

"Maybe we're still dreamin, Butch," Boomer said hazily from his mother's arms.

"No, my angels. You're not dreaming," Bonnie told him softly. She placed a gentle kiss against his cheek. To her shock, and Ben's, the three boys reacted as one, all pulling away, even though Boomer was the only one getting kissed.

"Aggghh! Nooooo!"

Seeing their parents staring at them quizzically, Brick realized first what had happened. "Um, sorry, Mom."

Boomer grinned sheepishly and said, "It's OK," before nestling his face against her chest.

"We had this really weird dream where these three girls kissed us," Brick explained.

"It was _gross_!" Butch spat, then added proudly, "And we were fightin' em' and beatin' 'em up pretty good!" It brought a startled look to Bonnie's face.

"And we were flyin' all over the place and smashin' buildings an' blowin' up things with our eyes and doin' all sorts of cool stuff with this talking monkey who found us in a flush-all an' had this really neat house an' we were havin' all _kinds_ o' fun!" Brick blurted, getting caught up in it.

"An' then those girls who we were fighting kissed us an we 'sploded!" Boomer said breathlessly, then added, "But it's OK, Mom, _you_ can kiss me."

The parents exchanged a brief smile. "Well, boys," Ben said. "We sort of expected you to have nightmares. We didn't really know what to expect, so I'm glad you seemed to have a good time."

"Though beating up girls isn't my idea of fun, Brick," Bonnie added. 

"Sorry, Mom."

"We'll have plenty of time to hear all about it, and we'll tell you guys our story, _after_ we get to the safe house." Ben told them. He put the box in the rear cargo hold behind the seat, along with the wand, and told the boys to strap themselves in. He joined Bonnie in front, in the left-side passenger seat while she resumed control of the craft.

*************************

Things happened fast. While the Ruff family was enjoying their very brief joyous reunion, the discovery of the deception had taken place and now a massive search of all sectors everywhere was underway. And individuals along the chain of command were practicing good CYA and reporting up to the next level, thereby removing themselves from possible blame. Finally, and in a matter of only ten minutes, the information reached someone who understood what this _truly_ meant. While he knew very few details, this undersecreatry to one of Terrana's Senate members knew the name Ruff was trouble if it involved an escape. He alerted his boss, who in turn alerted hers. Within ten more minutes, a fateful decision had been made, one that might cause the loss of what had just been found.

**

Next – Chapter Three – Revenge…a dish best served cold

**


	4. Revenge  a dish best served cold

**

Chapter Three – Revenge…a dish best served cold

**

A tall, silver-haired man of approximately 90, or on the cusp of senior life, was just finishing his late-night meal, alone in the well-appointed dining room of his luxurious penthouse suite in the executive district in downtown Paragon. A city of ten million, it was the perfect city to house a world's government. All cities on Terrana were perfect, though. Planned and laid out in precision, with every aspect of life taken into consideration before construction began, so that all necessary human services would always be met. In Paragon, as they did everywhere else, the trains always ran on time.

This particular man lived in a beautiful apartment, but there were many citizens who had nicer ones. The finest in workmanship that Terrana's furniture makers had to offer, instead of the attractive but more pedestrian versions this man owned. Artworks by the Masters on the walls, instead of prints of the same that this man was satisfied with, the same prints that hung on the walls of millions of Terranites. He certainly could have something more lavish if he wanted it, as his position would deny him nothing at all on this planet. His name was Howard Chang, and he was the figurehead-of state of the world government; the Primate. 

Never one to be too concerned with matters of material possessions, Chang's chief motivation was the continued respect and love and admiration of his people. He had led the world for forty years, and hoped to lead it for forty more. The average life expectancy for a male was 125, though a good number lived to 140 or so. He wasn't necessarily a brilliant man, not like many in the Senate, but he _was_ a brilliant salesman. His passionate speeches captured the hearts and minds of Terranites. He could sell the people on anything. It was a quality that was increasingly rare, as no one really needed to be sold anything anymore, at least not aggressively, not new products or new ideas. With the common greed all but gone, there was no need to stir up a feeding frenzy, to instill in people the idea that they just couldn't live without something, and create a demand for it. And with society having reached an even keel and stayed there, truly _new_ ideas were rarer than dinosaur feathers.

But having a leader who could grab your attention should the need ever arise was deemed to be essential, as the typical politician was as dull as a butter knife. Politics itself was a dying art form. There was still competition for positions, but the key ones, the Senators', were seats handed down over generations. Essentially, because although people still voted for them every ten years, they and their families were so trusted that there was virtually no opposition. The only new blood came when a family bloodline ran out due to no heirs. The Primate was not elected, but hand-picked by the elected Senate. Chang had been drafted out of the ranks of videocast advertising by a sharp-eyed Senator, who had hired him as an aide and groomed him to replace the last Primate. That senator was gone, but his son had succeeded him. The two men were very close, and it was from this senator that came the call that interrupted Chang's dinner.

"Excuse me, Sir," said the shapely young brunette with the striking violet eyes and the short, violet skirt, as she entered the dining room with fresh tea. Chang liked younger women. "Senator McAvoy is on the line."

"Thank you, Veronica. I'll take my tea in the study."

Chang stood and drew himself to his full 1.8 meters, which gave him a commanding presence before an audience, along with his rich baritone orator's voice. He was the picture of the top-line executive, relaxing at home after a day filled with important meetings in his one-piece dark-gray suit and deep purple velvet evening jacket. The clothing was perfectly tailored to his muscular upper body, slim hips and long legs. But perhaps his most riveting feature was his large, luminous eyes that were a very unusual pale gray, almost white. It was determined that less than one half of one percent of the world's population had that color. They could be exceedingly hard and cold in person, as could he, but were capable of great warmth, which is what the people generally saw. But what came through the loudest was the passion, the _fire_ in them when he spoke.

Taking his cup and saucer with him, he exited the dining room and went to his small workroom off the hall. Some of the elite class had pretentious libraries with walls lined with books that were never touched. All he needed was a desk, a comfortable chair, and the marvelous view of the bay and the mountains up the coast. Any information he wanted was easily accessible from his state-of-the-art multi-media center, which was wired throughout the apartment. He could hold a video conference with anyone, anywhere. He sat down at his desk and touched a key on the keypad. Instantly, the distinctive face of Senator Perth McAvoy came up on the wide wall screen to Chang's left. The worry in the large, brown eyes were in sharp contrast to the smooth skin and salt-and-pepper hair of the handsome Senator 15 years Chang's junior.

"Howard, we have a serious problem. It appears you were right about Benjamin Ruff."

The words turned Chang's blood instantly cold. "Why, what's happened?" 

It had been in his mind only briefly that morning, that it was the day Ruff's ill-begotten offspring were to finally be disposed of. But he'd not given much thought to the man himself. It was his own foolishness, too, that was responsible. He had lost his head and done something he now wished – somewhat – that he hadn't done. Ruff had opened his mouth – how he'd known was still a mystery - and confronted Chang directly when he and his family had been captured. It had saved his life. At least for the time being.

That day came back into his mind, as fresh as when it took place. In the aftermath, he had argued that Ruff needed to be eliminated immediately, without the usual wait for those convicted of the crime of not reporting defective births. McAvoy, along with six others on the ten-member Senate, had supported him. But three had not. Seven to three was a majority that would hold in any legislative action, but this was not a matter for public discussion… unless the three didn't get their way. That was the threat, anyway. The threat would never be carried out; the risk to society was too great. But it had worked; the seven finally gave in.

What Ruff had done was a capital crime, of course, but what Chang had done was even worse. Ruff's biggest supporter in the argument to allow him to live was someone who would have supported his execution had not this other thing come up. That man was Ruff's own father and the boys' grandfather, Senator Preston Ruff. That his own flesh and blood would challenge the foundations of society by not surrendering those kids was something that disgusted the elder Ruff. He saw them not as grandchildren but as nameless genetic anomalies, now; though he probably would have sent condolences to Ben and his mate at the time if they'd obeyed the law.

Probably, because father and son had been at odds for years. Ben was the only child of Preston and Agatha Ruff. Agatha was Ruff's third mate and was also estranged from her son. Ruff was a man who had seen much tragedy in his life. His first mate and their two children, ages 4 and 6 at the time, had been lost with 39 others in a ferry disaster on the Xiang river in New Asia. Accidents were the one thing that could mar perfection, but there was little that could be done. It was just accepted as a part of life beyond human control. Ruff was 31 at the time, and giving final exams to his history students at university, or he'd have been lost also. His father would be Senator for only six more months, the pain of losing his grandchildren hastening his declining health. Preston stepped into his father's seat and put the power of his grief into his service to the world. He found a second mate at 40, but they never produced any offspring. The pressure of failure combined with the lack of time they spent together due to his duties caused the relationship to fail after nine years. He eventually grew used to the idea that there would be no more Ruffs in the Senate.

But when he was 82, he met Agatha, age 43. She was an accomplished geneticist at the university he had taught at; he was giving the keynote address at an alumni dinner. 83 was very late in life to begin a family, but Agatha's experience in genetics made producing a child relatively simple despite Ruff's age. However, the age difference between father and son was something not so easily overcome. When young Benjamin adamantly refused a life in politics, and a seat in the Senate someday, in favor of science, Preston never forgave his son for it. A Ruff had served the people of Terrana in that great body for six generations. He never knew that Ben had found a mate, let alone that he'd had illegal children. 

But when his own son brought to him the knowledge of Chang's deed and threatened to make it public, despite being imprisoned – there _were_ ways – and Chang had privately admitted to it and apologized to the full Senate, it had angered him so much that he'd wanted to kill Chang with his own hands. And that's when the familial bond came into play and Ruff saw a way to save his only son, if not to redeem him in his own eyes. Two other senators bought his argument that what Chang had done was far worse, even if the likelihood of anyone finding out was greater with the son alive instead of dead. They themselves supported Chang's removal if the boy wasn't spared.

So son was taken aside by father and told to never, ever speak of this again and you will be allowed to live, and to continue serving Terrana as a scientist. Ben, already having decided with Bonnie to fight to the death, took the easy way out. Oh, he _would_ expose Chang someday, when the time was right. Doing it in shackles under a deathwatch would have been so much more difficult. Dead, he was of no use to anyone. Alive, there was at least a fighting chance to save his kids. So he agreed, he and Bonnie were spared, and they quietly went about being good little functionaries, doing their assigned tasks. Ben even suggested some experiments that he and Bonnie were eventually allowed to do unsupervised. They'd gained the trust of the watchers, who themselves didn't know the truth.

"What's happened, Howard," said McAvoy in the gravest tone possible, "is that they've lost him. Ruff has escaped."

"I see," said Chang after several moments. For now, his eyes kept either cold hate or hot passion out of them, both of which tore through him. "Does Preston know this?"

"We all know except for Margaruite Pelovsky, who is on a ski vacation in Oceania. We are in agreement on what needs to be done, and we're certain Margaruite would agree. Preston would like to speak with you. Hold on."

Replacing Senator McAvoy on the screen was the haggard face of Ruff the senior. His famous mane of jet-black hair, rare at his advanced age – he was now 116 – had turned white within the last year, and the always young-looking face had become deeply lined. Clearly he had carried this personal burden, no doubt one tinged with a good dose of guilt, with difficulty. It was not doing him well, nor was the idea of having to give in to a man he thoroughly disliked. Ruff had never liked pitchmen of any sort. Chang took some pleasure in seeing that worn face. They acknowledged each other with curt nods and simple greetings.

"Howard."

"Preston."

Ruff had always been a man of few words, unusual for a politician, and he got right to the point. "Howard, it looks like you've been vindicated. I must accept some responsibility for this. Mind you, I take nothing back on what I told you regarding your actions. My feelings on that subject have not changed. But I have to admit that he deceived me, all of us who trusted him. While the population may buy your denial, which I will now support, by the way, of his accusations should they come to light, we cannot take the chance. There are too many now who may believe him. Benjamin must be stopped, as much as it hurts to say those words. The passage of time has made me see that some things we hold dear must be sacrificed for the greater good of society."

Ruff's pale blue eyes were saying something entirely different, though, in spite of the expression on their owner's face. _"You bastard. This is all your fault."_ For him, knowing the truth about Chang was worse than the sacrifice of his son, which _would_ have been made, had Chang just lied about the charges instead of admitting it – which infuriated him all the more, for Chang had at least _some_ integrity. His own was now in question, by himself, at least.

Chang was able to keep the fire out of his eyes, for the moment, anyway. The man just couldn't resist getting in one last jab at him, could he? How many times was he supposed to apologize for that mistake? Though getting caught was what he regretted, not the deed itself so much.

"Thank you, Preston." Chang couldn't resist one last dig of his own at his rival. "It is a sad time for us all. I wish there were another way. Please, put Perth back on, will you?"

No doubt seething inside, Ruff did so. Chang didn't care what else the man did. It was done, or soon would be. "Perth, did you catch any of that?"

"All of it. Don't worry, Howard, I think we'll have an easy time persuading him to retire after this all settles down."

"I was thinking the same thing. OK, what's the next step? That's up to you."

McAvoy wasn't that foolish. He wasn't going into something this drastic alone. There might still be repercussions down the road no one could foresee at the time. 'Layers of accountability' was something every politician understood.

"For something like this, Howard, the order has to come from both of us, for our own protection. That way, no one can say the legislative branch has more power than the executive." Never mind that the executive was little more than a puppet.

"All right," Chang said. "Let's get it over with."

*************************

The sixteen search crews, four into each quadrant, had all stopped searching upon orders from headquarters, to avoid wild goose chases. The new orders were to come back in. Already, new, better-trained teams were loading up, knowing something big was afoot, but not what. Ten of the advanced high-powered hovercraft, with space for eight crewmen and up to twenty robots apiece, were just about ready to launch. These craft were equipped with rays of electricity that would instantly disable a craft, and practically roast a human. On a few test runs in the vast wilderness preserve on the continent of Thesica, a few of the giant wild boar had been killed by one shot. It was overkill for a human, times ten.

The crews stood ready, the robots already loaded, should it turn into an air battle. The robots had thrusters in their metallic feet and on their backs, and could maneuver by themselves once they had been programmed. The programming was underway. The chief gave his basic instructions to the 80 men and women assigned to this mission as they stood around him in a circle near their waiting craft, their black helmets in their hands or tucked under their arms.

"You are looking for a standard hovercraft, piloted by a 29 year-old woman with black hair. Her companion is a male, age 32, also with black hair. Their names are Bonita and Benjamin Ruff."

Recent color photographs of the two were handed out and distributed to each of the ten team leaders.

"Their faces may be camouflaged. We do not think they are armed, but we can't confirm that. Expect resistance. At this time, based on this craft's top speed, they will be no more than seventy kilometers from this position. They are probably flying a serpentine path to avoid detection; and will probably not be using flying lanes. This will slow them down. Two ships in each direction. Teams 9 and 10 are flying diagonal courses bisecting the quadrants; 9, southeast to northwest and back, 10 southwest to northeast. All of you, be ready to move to assist should one of you achieve your target. Your orders are to first make visual contact with the occupants to confirm identity. If unable to do so, use as little force as necessary to bring the craft down, safely apprehend the occupants, and identify them. We don't want any mistakes, folks."

"Then what, chief, after confirmation is made?" asked one female team leader, a bright young redhead with pink eyes.

"We suspect they are headed for a safe house operated by the underground; however, information from the Espionage branch of the Office of the Protectorate indicates that there are no known safe houses being operated in the vicinity at this time. It is not, I repeat, _not_ your job to follow them."

"These are your orders, ladies and gentlemen," boomed a voice known to all from the speakers in the large hangar. The sound reverberated off the concrete walls and floor, causing everyone to look sharply up toward the speakers. "This is the Primate speaking. Your mission is a vital one to the security of all citizens of Terrana. You must not fail. You _will_ not fail. I have faith in you, as does the Senate, who is in full agreement with this necessary action. I have with me Senator McAvoy, whom I am sure you all know."

Indeed they did. A good twenty had been nominated for the service academy by the man himself. "Good evening, people, I'll make this short. I can't stress enough the importance of the success of this mission, and the importance of getting it right. No mistakes in identifying your target. Once it is found, and the identities of the escapees confirmed, your orders are to use extreme prejudice."

It shook even the best-trained people. Not one of them had ever been ordered to kill a fellow human being. And this wasn't even what you would call a justifiable killing, one done in the line of combat. It was summary judgement and execution without due process. It was unthinkable. Even the chief was stunned. But here were perhaps the two most powerful men on the planet, ordering it. Terrana must be in grave danger.

"That is confirmed," said the voice of the Primate. "Thank you all, and may the Heavens be with you."

After ten more seconds of stony silence, the chief clapped his hands. "All right, folks, that's it. Let's roll!"

**

Next - Chapter Four - Flying Purple People Beaters

**


	5. Ch 4 Flying Purple People Beaters

A/N: Sorry this took so long. I finally regained interest in working on this story again. I only hope some of those that were following it regain that interest as well.

**

Chapter Four - Flying Purple People Beaters

**

Ben decided it would be a good idea for the boys to have their faces covered in the same face-paint he and Bonnie were wearing. It brought enthusiastic reactions from them. But it was time to get moving, so it went on rather sloppily as Ben painted with one hand while leaning into the rear from his seat.

Bonnie began a treacherous, zig-zag course through the dense woods to minimize flying through open spaces where they'd be more easily spotted by their pursuers. She estimated the time, at the rate they were going, to the safe house that was expecting them - prepared to receive them was more accurate, since a successful escape was more theory than fact - was a half-hour at best. Wiping the dark paint from his hands onto his black pants, Ben turned in his seat to grin at the boys, watching out the windows for danger as he did. The roofport remained open. The sky was bright with stars and just a sliver of the slightly larger of Terrana's two moons. The other moon had 'set'; it was invisible in the daytime sky on the other side of the planet.

They had time to talk, but the boys were still wound up, so no really meaningful information was coming from them. Bonnie smiled at the sounds while concentrating; she dared not turn to look, though she was dying to just gaze into those faces. Ben was glad they were strapped in. Brick wanted to know more about the contraption that had rescued them; they had never been told _what _their father was going to do, out of fear they might accidentally say the wrong thing to one of their pre-execution 'caretakers'. They had only boasted to all that would listen that their Dad was smarter than anybody, and no _way_ was he going to let them stay dead. So Brick kept peeking back to the rear compartment, and finally he twisted around enough to reach the wand, grab it, and 'pretend rescue' with it, aiming it out the open roof. His father warned him to be gentle with it, knowing the bright, inquisitive boy would.

Butch was squirming in his harness, straining to see ahead in the dark. "C'mon, Mom, won't this tub go any faster?"

"Not without getting closer to these trees than I want to."

"Aw, but that's the fun of it! Man, if we could fly, we'd be knockin' those suckas down, right, Boomer?"

"Yeah! Like we did those sissies! That was _gnarly!_"

"Word!" echoed Butch.

Brick grinned without looking away from the wand in his hands. "It was most definitely cool, which is to say that it did not suck, as things that suck are not cool."

His brothers cracked up. "That Mojo sure rocked!" Butch exclaimed.

As she dodged trees, Bonnie dared a single glance at her mate, who looked back at her, just as confused. _"Suckas? Cool? Word? Rocked? Gnarly? SUCK?"_

"Uh, guys, where did you learn to talk like that?" asked Ben, one eyebrow raised toward Brick.

"Uh…from Mojo."

"The talking monkey."

"Yeah!" Butch exclaimed enthusiastically. "He told us that to be real supervillains, we had to be mad, bad and rad, and that we had to be down with it, so he taught us how!" His brothers nodded vigorously, obviously down with it.

Ben said dryly, "In this same exact dream all of you had, he told you all this stuff your mother and I never heard of, let alone taught you."

Butch shrugged. "I _guess_."

"And _I_ don't like all this bad guy nonsense and calling girls sissies."

"Sorry, Mom," Brick apologized again. "It's just that we were really, really mad at those girls for some reason."

"But I'm not mad at 'em anymore," Boomer said. "I'm not as rowdy as I used to be," he added proudly, puffing up his little chest.

"Yeah, I guess we ain't the Rowdy Ruff Boys no more," Butch sighed, obviously wishing that they still were.

"You _aren't_ the Rowdy Ruff Boys _anymore_," Bonnie corrected.

"That's what I said!"

"Never mind," Ben told her with a smirk. "What _cool_ name did those girls you met call themselves?"

The three had to think about it for a second. Butch went first. "Ah, they didn't. But Mojo called 'em the-"

"Hey Dad!" Brick interrupted, his eyes on the device's readout. "This thing is doin' something!"

Ben froze for only a second. "Brick, hold that wand right where it is. Butch, reach over carefully and turn the display where I can see it. Bonnie, get ready to stop."

"I'm stopping. We never thought we might find anyone else tonight!"

"Yes, getting to the house can wait," Ben answered.

Boomer was thrilled. "Dad, you mean we found some other kids?"

* * *

Agatha Ruff was a deeply troubled woman.

It hadn't thus far affected her stunning good looks, though, like the stress had affected her husband recently. Now in late middle-age at 77, she had aged gracefully; her long blonde hair that had turned many men's heads to no avail, for them, had not a single silver one amongst them, and her face and figure were those of a woman 20 years younger. She took care of herself; they both had, with exercise and a proper diet.

But on the inside, she was a mess. Pride in her only child following in her scientific footsteps had been forced aside out of loyalty to her fiercely stubborn mate. Benjamin had disgraced his family by shunning a life of public service - Preston's opinion, not hers - by not wanting to carry on the family name in the Senate. It was as though the son had taken his birthright and dragged it through the mud before flinging it in his father's face - again, the elder Ruff's view. So, when her mate had severed ties with his son, she'd really had no choice but to consent, but not until first giving Preston a fierce argument from a mother's perspective.

From a scientist's perspective, she was also troubled. As one of Terrana's leading geneticists, she was aware of the recent increase in the rate of multiple births. It was something that shouldn't be happening. Any first-year student in the discipline would know that the _opposite_ should be the case. With the genes that caused multiples identified and bred out of the population as much as possible as far back as a thousand years, any modern cases were attributed to some environmental cause. What individual factor might be involved, no one kept a record of or even cared – the anomalies were simply gotten rid of.

But over the last twenty years, a _very_ short period of time, there had been a sudden spike in the rate. It was still considered an environment-based cause, to those that even paid attention. That the numbers of affected parents who were attempting to allow those offspring to live were also increasing wasn't a concern to authorities, or society. They were just criminals to be dealt with.

However, in the last two years, it had happened to two families within Agatha's sphere of influence. Both had done what they were supposed to – surrendered the offspring - but not without feeling the pain of loss. And it had happened to _her_ family. It had actually happened five years ago, in her son's case; she had never known until the evening her husband had returned from his Senate office, very late, and told her of their only child's capture, and why. Having this tragedy touch her own life so suddenly caused her, in spite of the laws of both science _and _society that she had always believed in, to demand of Preston that he do _something_ to save her son.

Ruff had told her all of the story; including the part involving Howard Chang's great wrong. Her frantic pleading had finished the job of convincing him that, in this _one_ case, a criminal's life should be spared. She knew the real reason why Ben and his mate continued to live, and she didn't care that it broke one of those laws that she had been raised with. Because she knew that the other one _must_ be enforced. She knew that her grandchildren would never know the love of grandparents. She had, in fact, thought of them as grandchildren, though it was kept to herself and the subject never discussed. Preston thought of them not at all, after his initial shock and shame of learning that _his_ blood had been carried through into defects.

And, she of course knew what today was. She had contacts within the government facility. She had not wanted to know anything specifically about the boys, _especially_ their names or what they looked like. She had enough trouble sleeping without those kinds of nightmares tormenting her. Better they remain faceless and nameless, for her health's sake. Since the government had started the 'de-atomizing' program, all executions now took place in government compounds, one on each continent. The continent of Brittannia's facility was right here in Paragon. What she did know – or had access to - was the numbers and statistical information of all seized, condemned offspring, including date of termination, at the Paragon facility.

All through that day, in her office at the research lab several kilometers away from that compound, it had occupied her thoughts. What must it have been like for her son and his mate? Today, and all this time between his capture and that moment of death for the boys whose faces she dared not imagine? And now, this.

Just a short time ago, she had stood three feet away from her husband as he took the call from Perth McAvoy. She had stood there in silence while her mate calmly - on the outside, anyway - explained to her what had happened, and stood there in silence while she watched him have to swallow his anger before that monster Chang, and assent to his own blood's execution. And when she had watched Preston leave the apartment moments later for the Senate chambers only a few city blocks away, and the emergency session that had been called, the man had seemed to have instantly aged fifteen years. Before her very eyes, he had turned into an old, _old _man.

She stood at the screened door leading to the balcony of their apartment on the fortieth floor of their building downtown. The warm evening breeze floated in as she viewed the twinkling lights of other buildings, and the passing hovercraft that navigated the flight lanes through and around the city. But she was only vaguely aware of these things as her mind turned thoughts over, and finally pushed them all away, save one. Amidst all this turmoil at this moment, Agatha Ruff had only one thought running through her mother's head, and heart:

Run, Benjamin. Run!

* * *

Benjamin wasn't running. Benjamin was _staring. _So were Bonnie and the boys, as the craft hovered quietly in a small clearing in the forest. Ben had taken the wand from Brick, very carefully, so as not to disturb the collection of particles that was now yielding a life-form in the containment chamber.

It was a girl. But not any ordinary child, or even more expected, an infant, as most of the dead were killed shortly after birth. This one appeared to be in her early teens, maybe thirteen or fourteen. She was dressed in the standard criminal's uniform; this one purple, to match her deeply colored eyes. Her hair was brown, long, and pulled back into a ponytail. The boys stared at her in wonderment as she lay curled up in the chamber. A twin would make a very tight fit in there, and should they be triplets, Ben would have to risk disturbing their slumber to remove one, something he would rather not do.

The boys didn't know, but Ben and Bonnie knew. She was one of the famous True twins. They were the longest-surviving fugitive multiples on Paragon, and their story had caught the public's imagination. Though played by the government press agency as a successful criminal investigation, the cause of the Underground had only been strengthened by it.

The girls, Polly and Molly, had, upon birth, been separated. But only by the distance of a few kilometers, in their medium-sized city on the western coast of Oceania. Their mother had showed larger than normal at three months, and fearing the worst, conspired with her sister to have that sister fake pregnancy. Should she actually give birth to twins, her sister would take one of them, and they would be raised as cousins. If not, the sister would have a 'failed' pregnancy. It didn't hurt that the two mates involved were of similar appearance; same build, same hair and eye color. It would make it easier to explain the eerily identical cousins, should that be the case. And that's what transpired.

It had forced some very creative upbringing and resulted in some close calls over the thirteen years the plan had succeeded. But time ran out on them. A suspicious individual reporting to a government agency, a swift nighttime raid by the local authorities, and a blood test to confirm it, and the twins were doomed. But a bit of carelessness by the authorities and a bit of help from the local Underground, and both sets of parents luckily had escaped, though the two women had wanted to die, for a time. The executions had taken place eighteen months ago.

And now, one of the True twins was back.

"I wonder which she is?" whispered Bonnie softly in the dark.

"I don't know," Ben answered. "I hope we find her sister before we get found."

Once they reached the safe house, the network would alert their compatriots thousands of kilometers and an ocean away of the news no one would believe…maybe. Suddenly, a 'whoosh' sounded over their heads, too loud and uniform in pitch to be something from a nightwing, one of the large predatory birds that populated the wild areas.

It was gone in an instant, but Ben was certain that it wouldn't be the last time they'd hear it.

"Come on…come on!" he urged the device in his hands, as if it could really listen to him.

* * *

Commander Rosella Bell peered through the dark from her seat to the left of the hovercraft's pilot, trying to search out the elusive quarry that the most advanced detection technology had been yet unable to find. Her night-vision goggles remained perched in the 'up' position on her head. She didn't like to rely on them until absolutely necessary; it was her opinion that the naked eye lost its natural nighttime acuity if you overused the goggles. She trusted her natural vision over the distortion the goggles caused.

Never one to be shy, she was the one who had spoken the question back at the hangar, as to the purpose of this mission. Just 26, she was one of the brightest young graduates of the academy in recent memory. A rising star, it was the stars that she was after. Her goal was to be the captain of a space vessel. Not one of the ordinary mining ships of which there were hundreds, traveling to the nine planets and their various moons and back with mineral and ore deposits. She wanted in on the Deep Space Exploration project.

Right now, though, she had a more immediate goal: Catch two fugitives and kill them. It was not her duty to question it, just do it. She hoped, like any good officer, to be fortunate enough to have _her_ crew discover the escapees. She had confidence in herself and her crew that _they_ could do the job. But she took very seriously the admonition to 'get it right'. She was not a loose cannon.

Her luminous pink eyes spoke to that. Pink eyes were unusual on Terrana, though not rare, as were white eyes like Howard Chang's. White eyes were seen as a sign of honesty and integrity; a pureness akin to the color itself. Pink was a sign of high intelligence. It was, of course, more perception than reality. The owners of eyes in the common colors of red, green, blue, violet, amber and brown were no more likely to be dimwitted or devious than anyone else. It was the scarcity that created this impression; those colors were a 'gift'. The genes for them were exceedingly recessive. Two parents with pink eyes were only mathematically slightly more likely to produce a pink-eyed child than any other combination. In Bell's case, though, the perception _was_ reality.

She was in command of Team #7, or Team Orange. She had also been given command of the pair searching the West quadrant, her team and #8, Team Grey. Those names were the only thing that distinguished them; everyone's uniforms bore identical insignia patches. She had ordered Grey to take the slower approach from Base, while she did a fast flyover of the area, out to the point where it was believed, if the escapees had gotten past it, they would not be found. Her team would make a much slower return trip, scanning until they met up with Grey. The other three quadrantal pairs were doing the same thing.

Seeing nothing by the time they were 110 kilometers from home, Bell gave the order to turn back. Only a few minutes later, she would reach the large, forested area she had spotted during the flyover. It was a good place to hide a small hovercraft. A vessel like that could navigate the trees if pursuit wasn't an issue. Bell's craft wouldn't be able to pursue…but the robots _would._

_

* * *

_

_

* * *

_

"Ah…I think I have her!" Ben exclaimed. Sure enough, while Bonnie and the boys continued to stare, the second of the two True girls came into view, next to her sleeping sister. These twins were identical, unlike many that were fraternal. The boys were fraternal triplets, all very much similar, but nowhere near as genetically alike.

"Whoa, Dad, this is _awesome!_" whistled Brick.

"Aw, they're just dumb girls," Butch complained, which earned him a frown from his mother.

Ben knew they needed to get moving. "Boys, unbuckle yourselves, climb in back, stay down and keep still," he ordered. The new arrivals needed somewhere to sit when they awoke, and needed some space in the cramped craft, in case they had a negative reaction. Ben didn't know how they might react.

He needn't have worried. The True sisters were strong. They had known that if they were ever caught, they would die. They had always dressed differently and styled their hair differently, up until they were captured. Then, in open defiance of their captors, the two immediately did everything they could to be as alike as possible. The news that came to them in prison, that their parents had all managed to escape, bolstered their spirits even further, and they had stood up proudly, insulting their executor even as the button was pushed.

The sisters had been trained well. Natural athletes, as well as highly intelligent, their abilities had been a perfect fit for the training they got. They were fully aware of _what_ the Underground was, if not exactly who was in it. They had always held out some hope that they might be saved. Neither girl knew, of course, that their parents and their aunt and uncle, who had been Molly's _de facto_ parents for most of her life, had been rescued by and were now members of the resistance movement. They had held out this hope as well, and all of it combined to make them as strong-willed as they were physically strong, ready for anything, but first, ready to see what it was they were facing and analyze, before taking action.

The boys had more or less settled down in the back of the craft. Brick knelt right up against the seatback, eagerly looking over the top at the dozing twins. A hundred questions tussled with each other in his mind to see which would be the first to escape his lips. Boomer aped his brother with rapt attention. He couldn't decide which of the two was prettier. Butch stood between his brothers, his arms crossed and a look of mild distaste on his face. He couldn't decide which of the two was uglier.

One question was the victor. "Hey Dad!" Brick blurted. "How come they're so big?" As far as they knew, it was babies the government got rid of, and _they_ were the exception. Butch wouldn't like hearing that stupid _girls_ were better fugitives than _he_ was. He'd already gotten the seed of that idea and was about to give voice to it when Ben shushed his brother.

"Quiet, guys," he said, holding up his hand to his lips. "Let's not spook them."

Turning to Bonnie, he said, "I'd rather let them wake on their own, but we really need to get moving."

His mate nodded, buckled herself into her seat, and eased the craft into motion. Butch kept one eye on the twins and the other on their progress around the trees in the dark, silently urging his mother to go faster. She had no intention of going any faster than necessary. Glancing at the rearview mirror, she ordered her sons to sit down. They grumbled, but did, attempting to peer over the high seatback anyway.

Ben eased himself into the middle seat. He tapped softly on the hard, clear lid of the chamber until one girl's eyelids began to flutter. They opened briefly, closed, and then shot open wide as she sprang to her knees, giving her twin a shot in the ribs with an elbow. Years of living dangerously had conditioned them to wake swiftly and clear-headed. Putting their backs together, they crouched, moving in a slow semi-circle, taking in everything. It lasted all of five seconds. Smiles lit up their faces, bringing one to Ben's.

Immediately, one girl pushed open the lid, and they quickly climbed out, shoving the chamber along the seat to the sealed side of the craft and taking the rest of the seat for themselves. The girl in the middle turned her attention to Ben, who had eased himself back into his seat, seeing their positive reaction to this major event, unbeknownst to them, in their restarted lives. Her sister briefly smiled at the boys in the back, giving them a short wink. It surprised even Butch. Their mouths hung open in small, matching O's.

"Wow, you guys did it!" the first girl exclaimed breathlessly. "I knew the Underground would come through for us!"

The other girl's face scrunched up in confusion as she indicated the chamber. "But how'd you sneak us out in _that_? You can see right through it!"

Butch shot to his knees, thrusting himself forward. "He didn't sneak you out, Dum-Dum, he pulled you outta the-"

"Butch!" Ben barked warningly. He needed to say no more; the boy knew he'd crossed a line. His brothers stood and gave him a disapproving scowl, Brick adding a shove and "Twit!".

The target of his insult just smirked at him from her spot next to the sliding side door. "Butch, huh? Typical. You're a little tough guy, aren't you?"

But her sister grinned at the boys, turning to reach back and squeeze Butch's cheek and give it a little shake. "Aw, I think he's cute."

Repulsed, Butch yanked himself away. Brick's face colored a bright crimson when the other girl said, "I think they're all cute. Especially you," she added, directing it to Boomer with another coy wink. The blonde looked away with a small, shy smile. "Bashful, too," the girl said, grinning.

"Are they yours?" the girl in the middle asked, turning toward the front again. Ben smiled his answer. Bonnie made the introductions.

"I'm Bonnie Ruff. This is Benjamin, and those are our sons, Boomer, Butch and Brick. Boomer's the shy one."

To Brick, these girls were nothing like the annoying creatures his age. They seemed to be assertive and self-assured, and his young mind recognized that they had probably experienced a lot, a lot more than he had, and they had something in common with him. He suddenly felt the need to impress these older girls.

Standing as tall as he could and puffing out his chest, he said, "I'm Brick, the manly one. Brick is a manly name."

Butch's scowl turned into laughter, to complement the giggling sisters. Wounded, Brick's shoulders fell along with his face."That's enough, boys, take your seats," Ben commanded, as he and Bonnie stifled their own chuckling.

The sisters turned frontward, seeming instantly more serious. The one in the middle took her sister's ponytail, removed the purple ribbon that held it, and made a fast, loose knot of the long, brown locks. "You know who we are already, but this way, you can tell us apart. I'm Molly."

Polly pointed toward the two adults. "Hey, those aren't your _real_ names, are they?" Not getting a no, both girls grew immediately suspicious. Polly said, "People in the Underground never use their real names."

"Except with each other," Bonnie responded quickly, softly, conspiratorially. It did the trick; both girls relaxed somewhat. But Ben felt the need to be truthful.

"Um, we aren't exactly members _yet_…but as you can see from this simple, direct course we're taking, we're expecting visitors any time. We're trying to reach the safe house before they show up. When we get there, the folks in charge will get word to your family that you're safe."

It was going to be a shock to the Underground movement, what had transpired this night, and an even bigger one to the family of these girls, mourned for the last year and a half. To the twins, though, Ben's news, and the fact that they were flying along, dodging trees, with the unseen enemy in hot pursuit, brought a one-word response:

"Cooooolll!"

Ben grinned. "That's the second time tonight I've heard that word used in such a strange way. Tell me, Molly and Polly, did this experience cause you to have dreams anything like the one my boys had?"

The twins stared at each other for a few seconds, then began to smile, smiles which became huge, somewhat disbelieving ones. "Did we ever!" cried Polly.

The two began to giggle, then each raised an arm and they slapped hands together above their heads in what, on Earth, was called a 'high five'. No one on Terrana had ever seen it, and the five other occupants in the vehicle stared at them. But that wasn't really what they were staring at.

The True sisters had begun to float in midair in the middle of the hovercraft, laughing together as their hands met…

"Bunny do gooooood!"

**

Next - Chapter Five - Overwhelming Odds

**


	6. Ch 5 Overwhelming Odds

**Chapter Five – Overwhelming Odds**

Commander Bell had given up trusting her eyes, and had gone to the goggles. Something was down there. She just couldn't find it. Which was strange.

The scanning equipment at her disposal, both long and short range, was as good as any presently in service. They found nothing, though. Heat sensors, designed to detect any sort of life form, or mechanical engines, also seemed to be inoperative, and Bell suspected that the cause of it was down there. Her crew knew something was off, too, there was a tension in the craft that was higher than the one already the result of being sent out to kill human beings. Those who could see the indicator dials fore and aft, showing air speed, altitude and other readings, watched nervously as the dials continued to spin slowly in a full circle, failing to do their job, useless. Even the robots seemed on edge, which was impossible, since robots could not experience emotion. Though 'on' and primed to go, they functioned only via their human programmers.

Shortly before, as Bell maintained her position at the northernmost edge, two hundred meters above, of the large forested area that the escapees were thought to be in, something very weird happened, raising the tension to its present degree. The indicator dials on her console had suddenly gone crazy, spinning madly, and something at the same time innervated the robots, sent them jumping in their harnesses briefly before subsiding to slight trembling, along with the indicator dials slowing. Then, barely a minute later, it happened again, and then a third time, after several more minutes. Though they hadn't been moving, just to be safe, Bell's second in command, occupying the pilot's position in the seat to her right, had put the ship's steering into manual. Anything electronic seemed to be affected by this new event. The hydraulic system, though ancient technology, still was the most reliable, and would work when the onboard computers, and everything else electronic, was dead.

Certain that what they were after was the cause, Bell told her crew to relax. "They're scientists. You didn't expect them not to try and jam our scanners, did you?" She was angry with herself for not suggesting that possibility ahead of time. But even that couldn't explain away the robots and the dials, and her instructions to relax had little effect.

She had previously radioed her 'partner' in this mission, Team Grey, to move in over the forest from the south, scanning as they went, close to within ten klicks of her position, and hold there. Now, two more brief spikes in the electronic anomaly spurred her to action. She contacted base and reported the incidents, along with her belief that they had found what they were looking for. She advised her mission leader that all team leaders should prepare themselves, their crews and their robots for the same experience, and to be ready to go to manual steering. Firepower was briefly discussed between the two. Bell suggested that if worse came to worst and all electrical components failed, including their weaponry, they could use the craft themselves as torpedoes, if positive identity of the fugitives could be made. Upon this suggestion, headquarters immediately agreed, and told Bell she would be assuming command of the entire twelve-ship detail from that point forward.

That last suggestion raised the tension level a bit higher. A few nervous glances were exchanged in the rear compartment. Bell's pilot spoke up. "Hey, Bell, I didn't sign up for a suicide mission. What're you, crazy?"

Bell turned to him and snapped, "It's _Commander_ Bell, Leftenant Balmer, and I suggest that you keep your hand on the stick and your mouth closed."

Bell being given complete command of the mission was not sitting well with the other team leaders and many in their crews, and it definitely didn't agree with Balmer. In his case, though, there was another reason. He had told her, more than once, that he found her very attractive, and she had shown zero interest. Balmer was a decent enough person and a competent officer, but Bell, being strong herself, was attracted to strong men…like Howard Chang, maybe?

That fantasy wasn't on her mind just then, however. She wasn't without friends on the security force, or on her ship. She called back to the rest of her crew, "How're we doing back there?"

Over the steady, low hum of the robots' continued jittering, several voices answered from their respective duty stations, "All systems near normal, Commander."

"_Near normal is the best we might see tonight," _she told herself. Then, one more voice was heard, that of Daggett, the chief engineer, the one in charge of maintaining the ship's computers, and responsible for the robots' delicate programming. He had an assistant engineer; the other four crew members were weapons specialists, which was a nicer way of saying they would be the ones doing the shooting, or controlling their mechanical helpers while they did the job. Crews were rotated regularly; Bell wasn't always assigned the same people, but Daggett was someone she always hoped to get. He was a jovial man twenty years older than Bell, and had immediately taken a liking to the hard-nosed, aggressive young cadet, and she to him. He was one of the few who could get away with calling her by her nickname while on the job.

Daggett called out to the front, "Rosey, I think I might have somethin' for ya."

"Whatcha got for me, Chief?"

"These power spikes are all upward. By reconfiguring the power array to disperse more energy to the robots' field dampeners, I should be able to boost surge protection. I'll know in another minute."

In that time, the proposed repair was successfully tested on one robot, then instantly uploaded to the rest. The steady hum stopped, and the robots were once again motionless in the cargo bay. There was an immediate sigh of relief, and one man said, "All right. Them things were driving me nuts."

"Good job," Bell said. "Think you can put this fix into something I can send upline?"

"Doing that now, Commander," Daggett answered. "There, check your console now."

The tiny light indicating data ready for transmitting flashed on and off. Bell verified that the signal was properly encrypted, then sent it out with the touch of a keypad. Wireless relay towers on the ground would have it to its destination in a microsecond. Bell called in to base to explain what she'd just sent. It would get to the other ships faster from there than from her. She opened a frequency to the other ships en route, to let them know what to expect from base, and to install the fix immediately. She turned in her seat toward the back. "Hey Chief, how about trying the same thing with the ship's field dampeners? How much juice will that cost us?"

Daggett grinned back at her from the dimly lit rear. "None, Commander. That energy source, whatever it is, is giving us more power than we know what to do with. Dampening'll keep vital systems safe from surge, and the rest we can just dump."

"Or feed right back at those techies," Bell muttered, relishing the thought.

Within minutes, all ship's indicators had resumed to pre-interruption readings. Bell sent that fix upline as well. With the scanners now operative, in theory, Bell did the job herself. Within seconds, a small, hazy yellow-orange object appeared in the mass of turquoise on the screen. No need now to do a life-form scan.

As a child, Bell had devoured everything she could get her hands on concerning the history of man taming the five seas, before turning her attentions skyward. Man had learned to sail long before conquering the heavens. But the only sailing done now was for pleasure. The last of the great warships, and she had learned the names of all of them, had been decommissioned almost fifteen hundred years ago. Bell had forgotten most of those names, but the thrill of imagining the excitement of those long-gone times had never completely left her. Bell leaned forward to see her quarry close-up, imagining herself high up in the crow's nest, and whispered softly, "Thar she be, Cap'n."

Only ten more minutes or so, and then, when everyone was in position…whatever it was, whoever they were…it was the end of the line. The odds against escape were overwhelming.

* * *

Author's notes: What I do in the next chapter will have a major impact on where the rest of the story goes. I am not yet sure how to handle it. If I get it wrong, because I've elected to do this story 'on the fly' instead of finishing it before beginning to post it, it will mean having to try and crawl out of the corner I've painted myself into without making a big mess. There's a good deal of philosophical stuff I want to include, along with the action and adventure and political chicanery parts, and it needs to be well thought out. 

Unfortunately, my work (long hours, outdoors in some brutal winter conditions) leaves me kind of burnt, evenings, and my brain objects to strenuous philosophical musings. I've decided to post what passes as a mini-chapter, before the (first) big confrontation, now. I am leaving the cold and snow behind for almost two weeks and going somewhere warm, and, I hope, relaxing. (When you travel, you want to feel that you've got your money's worth, thus you tend to try to cram in too much activity and end up coming home needing another vacation :) - though we will be at sea three whole days between ports - so I hope to have a lot of this figured out so that I can get going on the writing.)

Thanks to those who are following for being patient.


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